


reset

by yourgirlislovely



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cameo by Other Characters, F/M, Love and Angst and Desperation, Non-Linear Narrative, Time Travel, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28661046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourgirlislovely/pseuds/yourgirlislovely
Summary: She can call it yearning, but it's much too belittling; so much of her is him already.She can call it love, but it's much too romantic; he walks away too easily and too quickly despite loving her back.She can call it contempt, but it's just too cheap; there are dents on her soul and blood spilling from her heart. There is never a right way to keep Remus in her life.She can call it all of that. The first ache she feels for him is the seed embedded in her bones, the love makes it grow but it is contempt that wraps around her being like thorny vines and constricts her, pricking her.And it's all of that which jolts her to rush in recklessly, to crash into his past head first.She hopes desperately to love him a little bit longer.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19





	reset

**Author's Note:**

> well, one thing led to another and I ended up with this fic. this is an attempt to write remadora with a dash of time travel and realism. 
> 
> Thank you @desidarling123 on tumblr as always for being the right kind of enabler and support! <3
> 
> any other mistakes in terms of plot or grammar are my own. 
> 
> as always, reviews are welcome!

* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part 1_

  
  
Time travel, she thinks, is a bit like Potions.

  
  
  


A process of trial and error, mostly the latter and an immense abundance of patience. 

  
  
  
  


Her potions skills are not worth a shite.

  
  
  


It’s probably why she’s turning the clock again for round two, after a naive attempt at making conversation with a drunk Remus from 1982 in a overcrowded pub in Muggle London.

  
  


It ends with his hand around her throat against the rough brick wall of the back alley, his voice growling, “Disappear. Before I tear you into pieces.” 

  
  


Tonks can’t help but flush at the contact, despite this not being her Remus. 

  
  


(Not hers yet, anyway.)

  
  


Unfortunately, he sees it too. And it’s after she catches a glimpse of his disgust that she decides on a better tactic. 

  
  
  
  


_To effectively reconnoiter is key to any mission._

  
  


Thanks, Mad-Eye. 

* * *

_His Present, Her Past, Part 1_

  
  
“Remus, please! Hold on, I– _._ ”

  
  


She’s trying to keep up with him, the narrow halls and sharp turns of Grimmauld Place catching her off guard.

  
  


“Hey, slow down. Just –"

  
  


And it’s her clumsiness out in full force and she’s tumbling forward and–

  
  


Someone grabs her before she makes contact with the hardwood floors.

  
  


“Are you alright?”

  
  


Tonks looks up to see tired, concerned eyes staring down at her and the gentle press of his calloused fingers on her shoulders. 

  
  


(She could stay like that forever, she really could.) 

  
  


But she’s being pushed back, her shoes flat on the ground and Remus beyond arm's length. 

  
  
  


“If that’s what got you to stop, I should have tried tripping sooner.” 

  
  


It’s a weak joke that he didn’t think funny, his shoulders tense and his expression now pained but she can’t help but try for something. 

  
  


A month. A month since her stumbling confession and the lingering silence after for the remainder of their two-man mission that night. 

  
  


Tonk isn’t used to this. She knows straight answers, either through words or actions but the silence is agonizing. 

  
  


She swallows. “I meant what I said last month.”

He stands there, still.

  
  


(Did he hear her?)

  
  
  


“ Remus, I -”

  
  


“No.”

  
  


She’s not sure if she even heard him, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her eardrums makes it hard.

He's stepping back and she should accept it as a rejection, she really should. He's within his right to do so, after all. 

  
  


But then he makes the mistake of saying more.

  
  


"I can't do this to you." 

"What?"

  
  


His eyes narrow. “Find someone else. Forget me.”

  
  


And it’s the cold indifference in his words that sends a shiver down her spine. 

  
  


He’s _warning_ her. 

* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part 2_

Four days pass since the start of round two and she’s got his routine memorized. Not that it’s hard, there’s little that he does on a day to day basis. 

  
  
  


Wanders. Drinks mostly, but wanders. 

  
  


Day and night throughout Muggle London, with only a satchel of his belongings and his wand.

  
  
  
  


Tonks doesn’t mean to, but she fucks up and catches his eye once. She’s in disguise, her appearance too distinct to be recognized as someone familiar even by abstract association. 

But she does stare back, for even the slightest glimpse of the Remus she knows, the Remus he hopefully will still become, the same one she helplessly fell for, only to be rejected time and time again. 

_(If she can find that Remus, she can start there. Love him again just right, with time on their side and less excuses from him. He can gain after so much loss, starting with her.)_

  
  


But there’s nothing. Eyes hollow. Lost. 

* * *

_His Present, Her Past, Part 2_

The first time she sees him transform, it is on purpose. Her curiosity over her cousin’s mysterious schoolfriend and her sometimes-partner for Order missions is what pushes her to stop by on a full moon night to his flat. 

  
  


The first time she sees him transform, she makes an excuse in the guise of just a casual visit. He’s quick to catch her in the lie, but in the most polite and Remus way possible, he consents to her stay before she comes up with another excuse.

  
  


The first time she sees him transform, she _hears_ and _sees_ the rip of clothes. 

  
  


Her brief embarrassment at seeing him naked quickly fades as the crack and twist of bones ring in her ear. His face contorts like something is stretching his skull forward. His skin _shreds_ to reveal bloodied, damped clumps of dark fur. 

His neck is stretched out, angled downward and snapped in alignment with bony limbs and clawed paws.

  
  
  
  


The first time she sees him transform, Tonks vomits right in front of him. 

  
  


And she hates herself for it, she’s Moody’s prodigy for fuck’s sake, not some goddamn _child_.

  
  


As she wipes her mouth, it-no, _he_ is inching closer and she’s frozen to her spot, her brain trying to remember the precise effectiveness of the wolfsbane.

  
  


( She later reads the following in one of her books: "When brewed properly and taken daily the week prior to the full moon, Wolfsbane allows the drinker to subdue the pain of the transformation, to numb nocireptors at 100 percent until the werewolf changes back.")

  
  


He's _nuzzling_ her, his face on level with hers; the wet blood stains her cheek and the front of her blouse. 

  
  


"Remus?" 

  
  


He makes no attempt to acknowledge his name, or maybe he can't. She's not sure.

  
  


(Like many other things, she relegates this as a topic meant for pillow talk in the near future as lovers. Where she would ask him in quiet whispers between soft kisses and he would respond with answers he's tucked away in his bones for years. Just for her.)

  
  
  


* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part 3_

  
  


Her knuckles are white, tightly gripping the metal flask sitting between her legs. 

It's his usual pub and she's there an hour before his arrival. 

  
  
  


She places the crumbled notes worth fifty pounds in the sweaty palm of the old bartender, covering Remus's outstanding balance there and a little extra to have a more private table for two in the back. 

  
  


Then she waits. Tonks keeps her hair her natural dark brown, her cloak is wrapped around despite the warmth of the indoors causing her to sweat. 

  
  


It's a week before the full moon and Tonks is going to strike a bargain. Hopefully. 

  
  


Hopefully, the Wolfsbane is properly brewed and hopefully he's eager to keep her close for it.

  
  


For now, at least.

  
  


So she waits. 

An hour comes and goes, but no sign of him. 

  
  


Other patrons come and go, but no sign of him.

  
  
  


It's pitch black outside, the dim glow of the street lamps lighting the streets and giving a show of passers by walking under the sudden arrival of the first snow.

  
  
  


Tonks smiles. This will be them one day, arms linked. Shivering in the harsh cold but just so _blissfully_ happy. 

  
  
  
  


He never shows. 

  
  
  
  
  


Well. Third time's the charm right?

  
  
  


* * *

_His Present, Her Past, Part 3_

Remus loves her.

  
  


He loves her, he loves her, he loves her.

  
  
  


But he leaves anyway. 

  
  


She catches parts of his reason ("too old" "dangerous" ," no future") but acid burns through her and she's trying to scream, to let out her burn. 

  
  


He brings her high, just to drop her into a free fall. 

  
  


He is _vile_ ; he revels in her, her attention and love on him. The thrill of it, the power of it, the power over her...she hates him.

A halfway decent man would leave her to lick her wounds after the first rejection.

  
  


Remus Lupin is nowhere near _decent_.

  
  


She calls over her friends and drinks to her misery's content. They, being the supportive mates they are, do their part to bash the man who broke her heart.

  
  


But it just isn't enough. The world can know of his selfishness but isn't enough to sate her. 

  
  


For once, she wishes to walk away. To devastate as he does, to play innocent as he does.

  
  
  


(Hit him where it hurts. Hit him where he loves the most.)

* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part 4_

  
  


Tonks goes back a few hours, just enough time to use a proper locator spell to find him. 

  
  
  


She knocks on the door to his flat. Well, it's Sirus's flat. There's a spare key and since Sirius is in Azkaban, there isn't much use for it. 

  
  
  


It's a growl she hears in response, an attempt to scare away potential muggle neighbors a bit too curious for their own good. 

  
  


She isn't dissuaded, not today. 

  
  
  


"Remus Lupin, I know it's you."

  
  
  
  


It's quiet for a few minutes until she hears the latch come undone with a soft _click_ , the shuffling of feet stepping away.. 

  
  
  


Tonks pushes the door in, the floor beneath her creaking with each step. It’s bleak, every inch covered in a thin layer of dust. 

A familiar musk overwhelms her as she steps into the living room, a single grey sofa only barely distinct against dull walls. Pockets of light from the outside seeps in and she catches a moving shadow from the other end near the kitchen. 

  
  


Her heart is pounding, the flask stashed in her coat pocket is burning a hole-- this is it, the real first contact with him, her chance to do this _right_.

  
  


“Who are you?”

  
  


( And she thanks Merlin for her training because the truth is threatening to seep out of her from the slightest hint of his voice. )

  
  
  
  


“A friend.” 

  
  
  


( Far from it, she’s sure it was love that latched onto her like a small bite. An eagerness instills in her to know, to disassemble, to learn his secrets like lessons from a book from the day she met him.)

  
  
  
  


The floors creak as he makes his way to her, most of him obscured by the dark. She sticks her wand out.

  
  


“Lumos.”

  
  


“Fucking liar.” 

  
  
  


His hair is more brown than grey that Tonks remembered, longer and thicker. She can make out whiskers above his lip and stubble on his chin, his cheekbones poke out from his skin. As the full moon draws closer, his body reacts-- his nails sharper, the bright red marks over his face and neck are new.

It takes every bit of self-control to not step closer and trace them, to feel the scratches as they were inflicted, to feel him in those moments.

  
  
  


She opts for a more appropriate course of action. 

  
  
  


“Well, I hope to be friends at least.” She puts on her best cheer as she reaches to pull out her trump card and places it on the coffee table. 

  
  


His eyes narrow. 

  
  


“Look, I don’t know who you think you are but d’you really expect that a flask of cheap whisky is going to get me to– ”

  
  
  


“Wolfsbane.”

  
  
  


He stops mid-sentence – it is tempting. Wolfsbane is still new and significantly expensive to concoct – chances are, he’s never even come this close to it.

  
  
  


“What’s the catch?”

  
  
  


( You.)

  
  


“Nothing.”

  
  


He’s gone silent. Panic bubbles up in her as she’s already twitching to try this conversation again, with a bit more words and a little less mystery.

  
  


Remus swipes the flask from the table and drinks greedily. Tonks breathes out a sigh of relief. 

  
  


(It should work, she is sure she added the right amount of lacewings and powdered turmeric, the texture and odor matched the description. The nausea he’ll experience is inevitable but that’s the only side effect –)

  
  


A piercing scream snaps her out, Remus is on the floor the bottle lost in the dark. He’s changing, she’s seen him do it before but not like this, with his own body killing him.

  
  


She can’t _move_.

  
  


( She did it right, she knows she did. 10 lacewings then clockwise stir 10 times, 2 spoons of turmeric then counterclockwise and –)

  
  


His head is down, forced by the breaking and forming of his neck.

Claws spasm out, knocking down the table, his form inching closer to her and –

  
  


( Reset.)

  
  


* * *

_His Present, Her Past, Part 4_

  
  


They don’t speak during their stakeout.

Nearly 4 months after her first confession, 3 since his first rejection and 2 since he breaks her heart one more time for good measure, they’re assigned on this mission together. 

  
  


Not to mention, the pisspoor attempt on her part to make him jealous by bringing Charlie as her date to a small dinner party at Order headquarters. It's stupid and petty, especially when the occasion is Arthur's full recovery after his attack. 

  
  


(But it's impulse, and nothing controls her heart like hurt. )

  
  


So she steals glances in between, to the far side of the table, past Sirus's barks of laughter and Molly's widened smile, to see if he's looking back.

  
  


He doesn't. 

  
  
  
  


So here they are, in forced company, with only the buzz of crickets and the thick fog to hide in as she counts down the seconds until dawn.

  
  
  


Her cloaking charm flows a bright purple from her wand surrounding them, a thin stream of magic that seems to connect the stars above them.

  
  
  


"Beautiful, isn't it?"

  
  


She never expects him to start a conversation, not with her, not ever. 

  
  


(It's always her reaching out.)

  
  
  


"Yes." 

  
  


Brevity is uncommon for her, but it's her only defense at the moment. Anything to keep her embarrassment and ache under wraps.

  
  


She just hopes he gets the message and leaves her alone.

  
  


The vague mumbling of another question gives her the gnawing feeling that he won't.

  
  


"Sorry, what?"

  
  


He clears his throat. " You and er- Charlie. You're close?"

  
  


She's slow and controlled in her response. "We were at Hogwarts together, he's a year ahead of me."

(Please stop.)

  
  


He lets out a sound, something cold and bitter, and she can't believe his fucking gall to react like she's a fucking _joke_.

  
  
  


She grits her teeth, "Is there a problem?"

  
  
  


"Not at all," his voice coated in a false sweetness," It's touching to see two people be so close and get along so well. How wonderfully _convenient_."

His words leave her seething.

  
  


(And she thinks that with a genuine plea for him to stop, to leave her be, he would.)

  
  
  


She gets up instead and with a swift wave of her wand, stops the spell.

  
  


Mission be damned, she is _done_. 

  
  
  
  


"Good night, Remus. I'll report our findings to Mad Eye tomorrow." 

  
  
  
  
  


She's halfway on her way home, when she feels a hand (his hand, of course it's his) grab her and turn her around. 

  
  


She can see his breath against the streetlight they're standing under. His stare is unwavering, digging into her.

  
  


(It’s all there in her head; a snide monologue wrapped with clever remarks, sarcasm and wit sprinkled in to show that she’s not one to be strung along.)

  
  


“You’re a selfish man, Remus.” is all she says in a low voice before he leans in and presses his lips against hers.

She’s quick to pull him closer before he changes his mind, her hands wrapping around his neck, her mouth harder and desperate on his. 

  
  
  
  
  


They don’t speak again until Sirius dies. 

* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part_ ~~ _5_ _6_ _7_~~ _8_

  
  


The Wolfsbane knocks him out during his transformation the week after. As expected for first-time drinkers.

  
  


Well, first time drinkers of a successfully brewed Wolfsbane. 

  
  
  


Tonks leans down to his sleeping form, the ghost of a smile on his chapped lips and his cuts fading. 

  
  


Her heart flutters.

  
  


(She would fix it. The time lost to them, his years of loneliness, her years of not knowing him–gone.)

  
  


Reset. 

  
  


* * *

_His Present, Her Past, Part 5_

  
  


There is no funeral for Sirius. It’s a quiet gathering of whoever could come for a man who lost years on his life for a second time. 

  
  


It’s only Remus and Tonks in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, a tea kettle sitting in between them.

  
  


She talks about Sirius, as much as she can with what little she knows. 

  
  


“Never failed at making me laugh he did–”

  
  
  
Remus gets up abruptly, turns away from her. 

“Well, it’s good to know you two were so _close_.” 

  
  
  
  


And she is taken back to their stakeout from months ago, deja-vu creeping up her spine..

  
  


“He was family.” 

  
  
_(She prays that it’s the right response.)_

  
  
  


She waits.

  
  


And waits.

  
  
And–

  
  


His shoulders slump down and he’s all regret when he turns to face her. 

  
  


(She is relieved.)

  
  
  


“I’m sorry, I should have– yes, he was family. I just forget. When it comes to you, I forget.”

  
  
  


She raises an eyebrow and scoffs, “Something about me makes you all kinds of unreasonable?”

  
  
  
  


“Something like that.”

  
  
  


* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part 9_

  
  


They meet up everyday after that. Like a date.

  
  
  


Like many, many dates.

  
  


A walk here, a coffee there, a couple of pints at a couple of places.

  
  
  


He’s much more free with his answers, his likes and dislikes;and by god, he _flirts_. 

  
  


Not only with words, but with touches and winks and everything that he never does in the future. 

  
  
  
  


“Tell me about your friends.”

  
  
  


He leans forward with a smug expression as they wait for their lunch, “ Well there’s this one bird kind of like you, following me around, buying me things and drugging me with Wolfsbane to do God knows what--”

  
  
  


She rolls her eyes, but can’t help biting her lip. 

  
  
  
  


“No, you idiot. I mean your friends from Hogwarts.”

  
  
  


Pause.

  
  


He goes back, all signs of playfulness gone. 

  
  


“Why?”

  
  


Fuck. 

  
  


He is guarded now, arms crossed, scrutinizing her.

  
  
  


“I just wanted to know more about you, really. Were you close with the Potters? I heard that Sirius Black was-”

  
  


“Shut the fuck up.”

  
  


This Remus also comes with a temper and a sharp tongue she’s not used to.

  
  


_(FuckFuckFuck.)_

  
  
  
  


If looks could kill, she’d be a mangle of torn flesh.

  
  
  
  


“So that’s it. You just wanted the story, wanted to know the murderer from his former associates, connecting the conspiracy? ”

  
  


“No, wait, I –”

  
  
  


“ _Fuck_ you. They’re dead and gone. And he’ll rot in Azkaban. It’s _over_.”

  
  
  


He’s shaking, angry tears rush out of him. Her own fall helplessly as she stares back.

  
  


(Tonks breaks; not because of him but for him. This is it, this is the future he is resigned to by things far beyond his control and it will follow him. )

  
  


( And she’s back in his flat during a full moon, his snout and fur pressed against her; it’s all of him, all the pain and trauma, resting against her and she wraps her arms to carry as much of him as she can.)

  
  


She’s itching to touch, to bring him _close_.

  
  
  


But he’s already up and gone.

She plays with the small hourglass hanging from her neck, her fingers twitching to turn. 

  
  
  


(This is one conversation she doesn’t think she can redo.)

  
  
  


* * *

_His Present, Her Past, Part 6_

  
  


Coward.

A fucking coward, that’s what he is.

  
  
  


A note. He sends her a note to her office first thing in the morning, on a muggy Summer day.

  
  
  


It’s polite, sweet and kind of course. Him putting her future first, thanking her for her feelings too by the way, but will decline with all due respect. 

  
  
  


And she sees red, snarling at her team and even pissing off Mad Eye that he's put her on solo assignment to sort through a box of archived evidence for the rest of the day. 

  
  


She closes herself in her office.

  
  
  
  


It’s _over_.

  
  
  


Tonks crashes down against, sobs choking her and her fist in her mouth.

  
  
  


She feels her bubbly pink spikes drag and change into a dull brown, the strands growing past her neck. The warmth of the transformation drains, leaving her bereft of the one source of control over herself, a simple sign of her power that's been with her since she was born.

  
  


(How cruel that he takes that away too.There’s no part of her that isn’t him and she is lost without.)

  
  
  


She knocks the box of objects over, trinkets and larger pieces scatter onto the floor.

  
  


(It's despicable, for him to take so much rather than having her whole. )

  
  


She kneels down, picking up the pieces and tossing them in one by one.

  
  


Tonks stops, the bronze gleam of an odd-looking pocket watch illuminates it's distinct markings like scars.

  
  


Her fingers wrap carefully around the thin chain, pulling it closer for better scrutiny. 

It's an hourglass that's nestled in the middle.

  
  


A time turner.

  
  


She's never seen anything like it; no registration numbers, no initials. 

  
  
  


_"Something about me makes you all kinds of unreasonable."_

  
  
  


Ha.

  
  
  


He saves it all just for her, the worst and most impulsive parts of him. 

  
  
  
  


(It's too bad that he has the same effect on her.)

  
  
  
  


A few turns of the hourglass, a flash of light and she's _gone_.

* * *

  
  
  
It's much further back. 

  
  


A few hours intended to find him and confront him the night before becomes 14 years into the past.

  
  


(To set things right.)

  
  


But she finds him hidden in plain sight, young and lost. 

So much he hasn't lived through, but maybe he doesn't have to. 

  
  


Reset.

  
  


* * *

The time turner is special. Faulty but special. 

  
  
  


Personal in its purpose, she finds. 

  
  


To sync with the lingering pieces of the wearer's heart and take them where-no, when they want to go.

  
  
  


That's what she wants to believe anyway. It works for her as her own reason starts to mold her .

  
  


It's hurt and revenge wrapped around a worn-out heart filled with a tired love that will be the end of her if she doesn't do something about it.

  
  


Reason aside, she will love this Remus. And one way or another, it will be a better story than the one already written. 

  
  


It _must_. 

  
  
  


* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part 11_

  
  


A week later, they meet again.

  
  


Correction, he finds her.

  
  


He settles in the seat across from her at a table near the window, his own cup of coffee steaming like her own. 

  
  


She looks up to find him occupied with the paper in his hand, unfolding it and burying his head behind it but not before he nods in her direction. 

  
  


If it's a sign of forgiveness, she'll take it and without a word. 

  
  


(Maybe it's because there's no one else he has that he’s here now, but it's fine. She can forgive. She can forget, because it’s him.)

  
  
  


But it’s the shock of a Remus who is quick with his temper and even quicker to forgive, that leaves her speechless. 

  
  
  


And he notices too, shifting the paper down to peer at her, like a rabbit checking to see if the coast is clear.

  
  
  


( Her heart drums away. She’s accustomed to loving him at a fringe, never this close. Certainly never this honest. )

  
  
  
  
  


She hears a small cough followed by “ Brazil made the world cup finals this year, have you heard?”

  
  
  
  


She’s grinning like a fool now, staring at him. Remus takes another glimpse at her, his own lips curving up to match hers.

  
  
  


Reset. 

  
  


(They deserve this, don’t they? )

  
  


* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part 12_

  
  


Tonks is forgetting him.

  
  


Well, not the Remus as he is now. So _willing_ , so close and so desperate to be found. 

  
  


But her mind blanks on the calm of him, tired but kind eyes that listened to her even though she never spoke, the greys of his hair. 

  
  


His scars though.They are carved in her memory; even with her eyes closed she can trace them.

  
  
  
  


And sometimes, as she lies in bed next to a Remus she has, her fingers brush against his not-as-bruised skin.

  
  


Wishing for familiar dents that aren’t there. 

  
  


Sometimes. 

* * *

She is forcibly dragged into the dark of a cramped alley, falling down and scraping her bare knees. 

  
  


Tonk is kicking and screaming, her bleeding legs failing to loosen her assailant’s grip on her.

  
  


“Let go!”

  
  


“Not likely, you foolish girl.”

  
  


The voice is a harsh growl, barking at her. She’s roughly pulled up, hissing in pain as her back against the brick.

  
  
With the dim light from the stranger’s wand between them, Tonks makes out an angered face with a chunk of nose missing, a bright blue eye whizzing in all directions and grey hair. 

It’s after a minute that the man’s eye lands on the hourglass hanging from her neck. 

He is hit with realization. 

Then, disgust.

  
  


“You’ve ruined it all and you can’t even remember.”

* * *

_Her Present, His Past Part 13_

Her Remus asks about her too. About her family and friends. 

  
  


And she knows better than to answer with honesty. 

  
  


He understands the reluctance in her silence of course and how the tables have _turned_ between them.

  
  
  


But it’s when she can only conjure partial images of a man with a kind smile and a woman with long black hair when she thinks of her parents that truth isn’t an option for herself anymore. 

  
  


* * *

“He’s waiting for me.”

  
  


That’s all that escapes her as Mad Eye prepares to destroy the time turner, muttering incantations to make it ineffective once and for all.

  
  


One final reset. 

  
  


She can barely remember her last moments in her auror office or the aftermath of chaos by her first glitch, let alone the subsequent ones. 

  
  


She knows not of Moody, Ted and Andromeda Tonks, Charlie Weasley.

  
  
  


(Her Remus who isn’t really hers.) 

  
  


Because with each reset, she is stealing time and memory from everyone else, from herself. 

But all she can think about is a promise to see him tonight, just as she has for the past 5 months. 

  
  
(Even after tearing holes into lives already lived, it is still just him, isn’t it?)

  
  
It’s a weak excuse, a plea for her selfishness just this once in exchange for the world. 

  
  


Moody stops.

  
  


“He still is.” 


End file.
